


Ignition

by Hightower6327



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Original Killer - Freeform, POV Second Person, Reader is the killer, Slice of Life, ish?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26320018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hightower6327/pseuds/Hightower6327
Summary: You are The Firefighter, you have been in the Entity’s realm for as long as you can remember, yet you’ve never killed a survivor by your own hands before. Today, the Entity has granted you such permission, you will not waste it.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. Origin

**Author's Note:**

> Hightower here with this experimental work. I wanted to try writing in second person, and I can safely say that it is extremely fun to do so. I started writing this not long after the Demogorgon’s reveal, and life has led to this story being put aside for some time before I picked it up again and finished it. The Firefighter is just an original killer I made up on the spot, and he grew on me as I wrote this.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

You were not always like this.

There was a time before the trials, before the sacrifices, before the saving embrace of the Entity, when you were still... human.

You cannot recall every single detail of the past - memory is a fickle thing - but you do remember well enough.

You were but a humble firefighter residing near a quiet town, your job consisted mostly of taking care of simple fires, nothing that could truly bring harm to anyone. You performed your work with a smile on your face. Life was good.

...And yet, there was always this hollow feeling of sort in your heart that refused to be filled no matter your efforts, it was as if something was always... missing. You hoped to one day find a way to quell it for good.

Then you began to hear them, the voices. Minuscule, barely registered whispers in the back of your mind, telling you to cleanse, to _clean_ the filth marring your life.

You never were a religious man, but even a simple person such as you knew that they came from a being infinitely your greater, so you obeyed them. Fires broke out more and more often, from small dumpster fires to great ones that threatened dozens of lives, and every time you extinguished them with fiery determination. Each time you did as the voices willed, that emptiness in your heart began to gradually recede. That was it, that was your calling.

You were diligent in your work, many painstaking steps were taken to bury any loose ends that could have lead back to you, no one ever suspected a thing. And if they did... well, surely they wouldn’t be missed.

With each fire, with each cleansing, the whispers grew louder and clearer, you saw the world more clearly. It was not enough, there was still so much work ahead, so much filth. You needed to purge it all.

So many painstaking months of planning, incendiary caches rigged to explosives carefully spread across the town, near each building. The voices had to be obeyed, they were all that mattered, nothing could stop you.

Everything was in place, you needed only the right time before it could truly begin, and when a blazing hot summer day came, you knew it was the day to end it.

The cleansing inferno that ensued, the great conflagration, it was a sight to behold; the entire town went up in purifying flames. The voices were pleased, but they wanted more, you needed no further instructions— there was cleaning to be done. The fire department couldn’t stop you, they were too busy spreading itself thin in a vain attempt to contain your great work. They didn’t even know you were responsible for it all.

You charged head first into blazing buildings with your axe in hand. Innocents threw themselves in your path expecting freedom from their torment, they received a different kind instead. None were spared, you did not discriminate to whom your hands granted freedom, from children to the elderly, the sick and the healthy, poor and wealthy. All deserved freedom.

If only you could have seen your work carried to its end. After hacking a family into pieces, the hellish heat of the flames were dulled by a chilling mist, replacing the choking black smoke, inviting you into its midst. You stepped forth in it, trading the blaze of flames and creaking of burnt wood for a whistling wind and the crunching of dead leaves beneath your boots.

It was at that very moment you realized you had crossed the point of no return, this realm was the source of the whispers, _salvation_. Your first moments were of awe, for how could they not? This land was everything you could ever want.

The skies parted and roiling limbs descended from above, the moment you saw those spindly limbs and heard that bone-deep rumble you cast aside all doubts and fully embraced what came next. Your past life, what your old friends thought of you, all of it was now irrelevant, had _always_ been irrelevant. Only from now on would things truly matter. You knelt in worship as the deity made itself known.

Your immediate cooperation pleased the Entity, you heard whispers telling you of what was to come next, you listened attentively. There would be slaughter, there would be sacrifices, but before any of that could begin, you needed power.

The Entity molding you like clay, it lit an ember within the depth of your soul, soon that meager flame came to grow into a raging inferno, scorching all flesh from your form until you were naught but a burning skeleton in the garbs of a firefighter. The hollow in your heart was gone now, replaced by that fire. The process gifted you with fearsome strength, stamina, and the ability to conjure flames. But most importantly, vision: The lands were ridden with filth - they still are - but your fire could purify them, scorch it clean until nothing remained but the soft crackle of fire.

Side effects included the changing of your voice into something much more guttural and gnarly. You also miss the ability to blink, sleep is much harder to come by when you can’t close your eyes.

The deity guided you towards your first hunt, deep in the mist you would find them, _prey_ , and you eagerly prowled into its depths with iron willed conviction.

Your first trial was... unique, to say the least. For what you lacked in experience, you more than made up for with an enthusiasm that bordered on giddiness. You found yourself in the insides of a derelict farm, - later you would learn of its name, Coldwind Farm - a fog hid the horizon and the land was riddled with corn. Far away, the aura of generators brimmed a rich red. In the distance you could sense it; _filth._ Filth that must be cleansed.

Patrol the generators, find meat, sacrifice meat, please The Entity.

By chance, you stumbled upon a survivor relatively quickly, running head first to find them fiddling with the machinery. Once you laid your eyes upon theirs you were overwhelmed with disgust and hatred, never before had you ever felt this determined to maim, to kill, to _burn_. You flared up with rage and summoned your fire.

Perhaps you should’ve remained a little more level-headed: blinded with rage, you surged forward and assailed the lands with your flames. It seemed that in your initiation, The Entity had forgotten to properly attune your flames to its realm.

To put it bluntly, the entire trial was set ablaze. Whether or not such a result was planned, you do not know. Their screams however, are a fond memory. The following trials ensured the taming of your flames, they could only spread so much and last so long before petering out. But with the right offerings - those found in the Bloodweb in exchange for your diligent work - you can shape them in a way that homages well the first inferno.

That’s what your life is now in the Entity’s realm. Endless trials. Endless bounties. Endless slaughter.

You couldn’t feel more at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please tell me what you think of it in the comments below and leave kudos if you enjoyed! Chapter 2 will be posted soon, just need to finish proofreading it.


	2. The Trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today is be the day you kill a survivor with your own two hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry or the huge delay, real life got in my way like it usually does, here’s the actual trial!

You sit idly on a log in the forest of intermission, tapping the handle of your fire axe as you eye the campfire intently, it has not yet called out to you, and so you wait. 

You hear a deep, rumbling groan and the incessant push of metal against dirt, and lumbering form of The Executioner emerges from the veil, ever dragging his great knife behind him. He heads off far in the mist, likely to return to that eldritch facsimile of the town he once served, Silent Hill, you believe it is called. You acknowledge his presence with a nod as he passes you, silence is his answer.

Good enough.

He is relatively new here, yet from the day of his arrival you knew he is no stranger to killing. It is in his blood, part of his being. To him, serving The Entity is but working under a different... employer. Unnerving? Yes. Brutally Efficient? Yes. Thus, he earns your respect.

The other killers, your... coworkers? Rivals? You’re not entirely certain yourself. While you may all be kin of a sort, most killers you have no strong feelings with whatsoever. Some love their work, such as you, Sally, Myers, Lisa, Carter, Anna, Freddy, Amanda, Hawk, Rin, Adiris, Danny, Kazan, Caleb, and Pyramid Head.

Others do it out of necessity - Max, Phillip, Bubba, the Legion (partially), and Evan come to mind. The monster? Likely driven by nothing other than pure instincts. You have a higher affinity to some of the more devout killers, but not much.

The campfire shines ever so slightly, and for a moment you liven up only to slump back down as crackles fill the air and the tall form of Herman Carter heeds the call.

“It is time for your treatment!” his voice titters with a gleeful madness.

The Doctor, by all means a monster in all shape and form. But his diligence and devotion to his work gets results. Thus, you also bear some respect for him.

The campfire remains idle in the distance, and so you wait like you always do. When it acts up again it isn’t for you. 

_“Laaaaaa laa, la la la la la...”_

A faint lullaby echoes in the wind and you see the grass flicker. A deep, slow laugh echoes in the mist.

The Nightmare? Sadistic, cruel, insidious, loyal and devout in his duty. The last three should be enough to warrant your respect, but what he did in his past... 

...There are things even you cannot forgive. For him, there is nothing but disgust. Should you ever cross paths again your axe will find itself buried in his broken skull, and you will gladly shoulder whatever punishment the Entity sees fit.

Fourth time isn’t the charm, unfortunately. You see four hooded figures - The Legion - approach it. They play a quick game of Rock Paper Scissors, and the victorious Frank prowls into the mist humming something you can’t quite catch as the rest cheer him on before departing.

You huff in amusement, even in the Entity’s realm their camaraderie remains.

The flames call out once more, and this time no one answers. Here’s your chance. You stand up and manage three feet before a soft, purr-like rumbling breaks the silence. Heavy footsteps thud through the grass and you freeze in place, your flames weakening as your grip on the axe turns to iron. And the non-human form of the beast emerges from the mist. You discreetly peek at it from the corner of your eye as to see its ‘petals’ undulating ever so slightly.

The beast... The Demogorgon, it is one of the very few things you genuinely fear in The Entity’s realm. The less you speak of it, the better. You leave it be, it leaves you be, that is good enough for you.

Smelling the air around itself, the Demogorgon gazes in your direction briefly and seems to recoil at your burnt scent. Croaking a guttural snarl of disgust, it stomps off towards the fire with a growl, spittle oozing from its open maw. Once you are certain it is truly gone, you sigh in relief and ease up, fastening your face mask just a tad more.

With nothing else to do, you slump back onto the log, idly tapping it to stave off boredom. If there is one thing you’ve never truly gotten used to in the Entity’s realm, it’s the awkward boredom of intermission. Nothing to truly do but sit or stand and wait for your call. The forest may be cozy, but there is little to do.

As if hearing your idle complaints, the fire flickers and calls out again, to you this time. Embers flicker against your mask as you breathe a sigh of relief then heed the summon.

Standing before it, the flames reach out for any offerings you may have. Before you give any to its awaiting maw, you kneel and lower your axe. Focusing deeply, the world before you crumples and shatters, and you fall into a black void.

When you hit semi-solid ground, you find yourself in the familiar nightmarish tangle of whispers, sobs, and echoing pressure that is the Bloodweb.

The Bloodweb supplies you with add-ons and perks - many of these from the other killers - for use in the trials in exchange for duty well done. The better you perform in a trial, the more riches it allows you to plunder from its twisting grasp before expulsing you. Wander deep enough into its maze, and the rewards are of greater value and rarity.

With points to spare, you take as many add-ons and offerings as you can, not really paying attention to what you pick before it spits you out.

Back at the campfire, you offer the flames a survivor pudding, its contents far too salty for you to bear.

And you don’t even have a tongue.

Now, for the add-ons...

Rummaging through your storage, you retrieve from it a box of matchsticks and a jerry can full of gasoline, then toss them in the fire. Both combust in an explosion of clawing flames and smokes before the blasts freezes and is reabsorbed by the campfire. You do not flinch at the sight- this has happened countless times before, it will do so again in the future.

The matchsticks will allow you to channel flames just a tad faster, while the gasoline will cause them to spread further.

For perks, you choose Agitation, Fire Up, Furious Wrath (one of your own), and Hex: Ruin.

Knowing your luck, Ruin will maybe buy you a minute or two at best, but a minute can make all the difference.

Now comes the hardest part; finding the suitable attire. What to wear, what to wear, hmm...

You keep a hand on your chin as you gaze through your ‘wardrobe’, as limited as it may be. Do you go with the bloodstained attire, fix your shattered visor or stay how you are? Decisions, decisions...

You lean towards the bloodstained attire, it amps your fear factor, but the fixed mask looks rather nice. It reminds you of your younger days before the original was broken in a scuffle with the Oni- you still don’t know how you survived it. But what about that new outfit you’ve just recently earned? The pirate capt-

A rumbling drone brings your contemplation to a sudden end and in your panic, you hastily scramble for the bloodied outfit. In a burst of pale fog, your clothes splatter with gore, and weeping veins tangles themselves over your axe.

The Entity is not fond of those who take too long, hence the endgame collapse. You were lucky to even receive a warning.

You mutter an apology and step into the mist, ready to begin the trial. You stand at the ready, eager to slaughter and sacrifice in glory of your deity. Embers dance at the tip of your gloves, your flame yearns to be unleashed.

Yet the fog doesn’t close in, to your consternation.

Have you done something wrong? Has someone taken your turn while you were contemplating your outfit? While beyond rude, you wouldn’t put it past  
Some killers. Danny would definitely do such a thing.

You make to speak, but something bumps against the back of your ankle, and you look behind yourself to see the discarded remains of the pudding, spilled over the grass and your foot - you burn it off in disgust.

Your unease thickens, never before has the Entity ever refused an offering. It’s displeased with you, it has to be.

Before you can even plea for forgiveness, you feel your left hand clenching against something, and you open your palm to find a small off-white token in the shape of a head, the left side a skull, and the right side a face. 

An ivory mori.

Your mind grinds to a halt. You’ve never received a mori before, why now?

The mist thickens, the pressure in the air turns thick and oppressive. Then, you feel it. 

It is here. 

The Entity is here. 

_You have done well, the last one is yours._

**“My lord?” you speak up without thinking.**

The Entity does not clarify, it repeats itself. 

_The last one is yours._

Its eldritch whispers resonating through your head, you pause, coming to an epiphany.

Your master has granted you its permission to kill a survivor by your own hand. This trial, you will finally have your first kill in its realm.

Your skull morphs into a grin so wide it threatens to split in half. Practically dancing on the spot, a squee of giddiness escapes you before you regain your composure.

**“Thank you, my lord. I shall not fail you,”** you promise, offering the mori to the flames.

The Entity leaving you to your own device, you dash into the mist with feverish, childish excitement, shining like a brilliant beacon of light in a storming sea of souls and horrors.

You can already picture your prey begging for mercy as you bring the axe down upon their head. Fresh blood will sate your axe. Hooks will dig into flesh. The filth will be cleansed. Today shall be a bountiful harvest.

* * *

You come to amidst a field of corn, the smell of blood thick in the air, a diluted yellow staining the trial.

Coldwind Farm, Thompson’s House.

If you’re lucky, you’ll have started relatively near the shack, can see if the basement is there or not. 

You hold your axe with both hands, waiting for the signal.

_Begin._

Grinning, you prowl amidst the corn, heading towards the nearest generator you can find. Passing a corner, you find a lone dumpster, its fire faint and dull. 

Approaching it, you pour some life into it, feeling your spirit fire up as it too fires up, and you stomp towards the generator again, head twisting from side to side.

You arrive to find dead air, rusty pistons unmoving as the crackling of flame stir the air. You gruff in satisfaction and depart, throwing a fireball behind you.

Then you hear a distant thunder strike, and Ruin is gone.

Sigh...

Before, seeing Ruin being destroyed this early filled you with rage. Now, it’s just discouraging. You should’ve gone with Corrupt Intervention instead.

Shaking your head and sighing once more, you prowl to another generator, seeing a crow fly away in the distance, and you know there is prey to be found.

Then, for a split second near the generator, in your peripherals, you see the aura of a survivor. Someone - likely Laurie - has brought Object Of Obsession.

You round the corner and snarl as you make eye contact with Laurie, fear and hatred in her eyes as she jumps off the burgeoning generator. In the corner, you can see Dwight cowering in a recess, hoping you haven’t seen him. 

Ignoring the nerd, you give chase to Laurie, drums kicking in the back of your mind as the pursue begins.

  
With every passing seconds, you come closer to her, feel her heart pound faster and faster. Thinking on your feet, you raise a hand, and flames rise from a nearby window, blocking its use. 

  
That split second pause of her has you close the distance and lunge forth with a snarl, expecting to taste first blood, only to eat a face full of wood instead as she drops the pallet on you.

Her laughter becomes clouded by the miasma of fury invading your mind. Furious Wrath activates, and the rage comes out. You let out an infernal roar as your flames explode in a burst of searing heat, eyes alight with hatred. 

Smugness turns to fear as you destroy the pallet in but a single strike, breaking into a sprint with murder in your eyes.

Maim. _Kill._ **BURN.**

With rage fueling you, you close the distance with speed. Laurie knows she doesn’t have much time, and makes a critical mistake.

She nears a harvester, and just as she starts vaulting over it, you cast a wall of flames, grinning to yourself as she screams from the burns, tumbling down onto the soil.

You bury your axe in her back as she stumbles to her feet, burning the blood off your weapon before hoisting her over your shoulder.

You turn about and head to the nearest hook— out in the open. Laurie’s struggling causes you to stumble here and there, but the thought of hearing her scream as cold metal pierces through her clavicle invigorates you, has you move faster, your Terror Radius growing bigger.

You throw her off and onto the hook, grinning as she screams in agony as you turn about and head back to the previous generator. Knowing Dwight, he probably still working on it.

The clanking and clicking of busy hands grow louder, then stop, only the rapid pumping of pistons remain. You arrive to find the generator alone and near completion. It looks like Dwight has given you the slip, or has he?

Trudging up to it, you raise your foot only to bring it down, looking over your shoulder to stare daggers at the locker. You approach it, already knowing it is far from empty— a gasp proving it.

You slide your axe in between the handles, barring it. **“Hold this one for me,”** you say quietly, grinning as you hear him panic and start banging against his refuge turned prison in an attempt to dislodge the axe. With your prey secured, you turn to the generator and give it two hefty kicks. The machine sputters and lets out sparks as it smokes, progress starting to be undone.

Dwight isn’t even given the chance to flee as you open the doors not even a second after retrieving your axe, nor to struggle as he is then placed on a sacred hook, his screams resonating through the trial.

You’ve spent too much time in this section of the map, its time to check further away, they’ll finish a generator any moment now-

**CLANK**

**CLANK**

Of. Course.

Grumbling to yourself, you run back to Laurie, she's the survivor nearest to the generator that finished. You know they always rush for a rescue once a generator is complete, countless trials have taught you well. 

Embers sizzle from your fingertips as you hack through corn after corn, denying them future refuge. For a moment you wonder why other Killers have not thought of this beforehand— Coldwind is so empty without them, they might as well simply stand in the open. Then again, the corn usually grows back after some time.

Breaking through the fields, you emerge near Laurie to see her would be savior: David King, the rugged scrapper, just about to unhook her.

**“There you are!”** you roar and toss a fireball. The projectile burning bright as it soars forward.

Eyes wide, David thinks quick and ducks under the heat, which soars past and crashes into a wooden wall, bursting into flames. He turns tail and flees, you give chase, your axe thirsting.

David leads you away from Laurie - who‘s then unhooked by another survivor - and towards the house, vaulting over obstructions you step over cautiously, has him throw down pallets you avoid.

Heat flaring in your hand, you summon a fire wall before the porch, blocking his path and forcing him to go around. You gain on him, already winding up as he rushes to the other entrance. In the midst of it, Dwight is unhooked too.

You land a hit, pausing to clean your tool of filth as David dashes forward in pain, and, like a fool, he rushes upstairs. You cackle at his fatal blunder as you follow him, hearing David chide himself in a rather colorful language.

The second floor of the Thompson’s house is extremely dangerous, not many chances to escape.

He leads you around pieces of wooden junk laying about, nearing the generator. Trying to gain some distance, he reaches for a window, one which is quickly denied by your flames. You have him cornered. You close in, rearing for another strike.

But moments before the blow connects, David ducks and dashes forward, avoiding your strike in its entirety and zooming past you: Dead Hard.

You let out a guttural snarl. Oh do you *hate* that technique, far too many times has a sacrifice being denied to you by that heinous dash. Your anger has you flaring up, embers flickering over the axe. Thankfully, he won’t be able to use it anytime soon, it takes quite a toll on his stamina to use it.

**“That trick will not save you forever!”**

Before long, you’re right behind him again, lunging forward to dig the axe into his shoulder, sending him sprawling onto the floorboards with a scream.

With him on your shoulder, the familiar aura of four hooks reveal themselves near you; the basement is here. You grin. David won’t be leaving anytime soon, that’s certain.

You make your way to it, its wooden stairs creaking as you descend into its sacred depths, red lights peer from cracks while the hooks lie waiting for sacrifice.

You adore the basement, The Entity’s presence there is absolute, its whispers floating in your mind and filling you with newfound strength. The ultimate altar of sacrifice demanding fresh blood be spilt. You understand why Bubba is so fond of the basement, how couldn’t he? It’s a nigh inescapable death trap if you play your cards well.

After hoisting your prey onto the hook, you rush back up the stairs, that generator is soon to be done.

You head towards it, seeing no survivors amidst your path, it’s likely they are all working in unison, tightly packed together, a prime target for a fireball. You start channeling your flames.

Behind the wooden boards, the hissing of pumping pistons is clear as day. It’s about to pop, you don’t have much time.

You cross the corner to find three heads twisting towards you with shock in their eyes, two of which have toolboxes. Dwight is the farthest, shielded by the generator. In the middle is Claudette and closest to you is Laurie.

Snarling, you toss the ball.

Just a moment too late, the machinery lights up with a distinctive “pop!”. However, your attack strikes true, Laurie and Dwight scream as they are consumed by flames and knocked on their backs, Claudette, having dived at the last possible moment, is unharmed.

As they struggle to their feet, you lunge and strike Laurie back down, sparing Dwight a baleful look as he stumbles to his feet and flees. Claudette is nowhere to be seen.

You need to apply more pressure, only two generators remain and you’ve only hooked them a total of three times.

You hurl a fireball in Dwight’s general direction, hearing a scream but no indication that he has been injured.

Returning to Laurie, you feint leaning down before spinning about, Claudette shrieking as it grazes her cheek before she dashes away into the corn, whimpering.

Every-time any survivor has a flashlight they always, ALWAYS, rush up to a fellow survivor in need to blind the killer that trial. You growl to yourself as you hoist Laurie over your shoulder, your heart racing as the sacred hook comes into view. 

This time, The Entity manifests, and Laurie just barely manages to catch the eldritch black talon going square for her throat, the struggle phase has begun. How long she can hold it off dictates how long she has left to live.

_Go_.

You head off, following the nearby trails of spilled blood, trails that lead you away from the hook and towards scratch marks that come to a halt near a combine harvester. She’s close, you know it, _hear_ it. A whisper comes from your right, and you spot Claudette peeking from a stack of hay.

She narrowly avoids your fireball and runs off as you give chase. She loops you around the stacks, stunning you with a pallet, but even with your rage induced burst of speed, she succeeds in keeping you at bay with vaults and tricks.

Another pallet comes into contact with your face, and once you are done breaking it, you find yourself alone without any trails to follow, she has given you the slip. 

Frustrated, you head to the the basement, David is about to enter the struggle phase soon if he doesn’t try to escape, and someone is bound to rescue him anytime now.

Just as you enter the house, David reaches the second phase before being unhooked, and you clutch your axe tighter as you descend to find Dwight, healed of his injuries, and a still wounded David.

They both rush towards you, but you simply bar the exit in a burst of fire. Dwight isn’t stopped by this, ducking under your swing and screaming as he forces himself through the fire and flames.

...Heh.

David isn’t so lucky however. You catch his swing and answer in turn with a blow to the guts. Screaming, he tumbles down the flight of stairs to collapse in a heap, groaning weakly as he hits the wall. You snort at the sight and drag a hand down the walls as you descend. He still kicks and squirms as you placidly approach the totem and return him to his hook to complete the sacrifice. You stand back and watch it unfold.

Too weak to fight back, David is impaled by numerous talons, killing him instantly. His corpse dematerializes, leaving only the black, ghostly outline of his soul which is then hoisted up and carried into a portal by your master’s roiling limbs.

A sacrifice in the basement is a sight you cherish above all else. To witness a survivor desperately fend off their inevitable demise, either they are rescued, or their strength gives out, and they are carried out in It’s grasp. But in the basement, the deity’s power runs supreme, it’s harder to breathe, harder to concentrate, it makes their dwindling hope pave the way to fear, a sight that proves to be intoxicating and invigorating no matter what. It is a shame that you did not see him struggle for long.

One survivor down, three to go, one of which is nearing her demise.

You leave the house but not before blocking an entrance with fire, slow them down if they try to repair the generator up there.

Immediately you rush towards the furthest generator, the few you pass dull and untouched. A distant explosion confirms your suspicions, someone is indeed working on it. Excellent, you cannot afford wasting time and increase your pace.

The generator’s aura is visible through the walls of the killer shack, though it is no longer being worked on. But you know she is close, even with no scratch marks to guide you, you know she hasn’t budged.

Hushed whimpers and the unmistakable sound of gauze being stretched come into hearing range, you enter the shack to find her in the midst if dressing her wounds, the bandages falling apart as she drops them and turns tails.

Like a fool, the first thing she does is drop the pallet, missing you entirely, you even see her cringe at her own failure. And quite frankly you can’t blame her— That was a complete screw up.

Regardless, you make short work of it, splintering it into useless bits before finding her fleeing from the shack.

Your irritation grows as she ducks and weaves past the numerous balls of fire you fling at her. Your desire to spill blood grows deeper with every passing moment, until you’re right behind her just as she nears a fallen pallet

Her shriek as you yank her off the pallet and onto your shoulder is music to your ears, her agonizing scream as she hooked even more so.

Only Dwight remains, leaving Claudette alone should be without risk— unhooking her in this situation would be suicide, and he is too cowardly to risk such a-

You hear a grunt followed by the unmistakable clank of someone being unhooked. You look over your shoulder and groan.

Really? She attempts to free herself while you are still right before her, and succeeds? Does she expect mercy? Respect? She will have neither. While you can admire the talent required to free oneself from a hook, doing so before your foe has even left is a fatal and idiotic mistake. Something you have no patience for.

You make sure to heat up the hook before returning her to it. 

Now, where were you? Ah yes, Dwight the coward.

You break into a sprint, time is a luxury you do not have. Once Claudette falls the hatch will open and you may very well lose your one and only chance to feel true slaughter. 

To your frustration, your persistent search yields only dead air, finding generators thumping near completion but no signs of Dwight. You even check the lockers, still nothing.

You need to be smart, approach this cunningly, if Dwight won’t reveal himself to you, then the crows may be your key to victory. You rush to a combine and climb its metal bulk. The mist’s horizon standing clear to you, you narrow your eyes and focus.

Claudette is still fighting for survival, no disturbances in her area, no disturbances from her side of the map. You look to the right and let out a victorious chuckle as a disturbed crow flies from its perch. There he is!

One hand against the combine’s hull, you vault it and land onto one knee, rising smoothly.

At least... that’s how it was supposed to go in your mind.

In reality, you catch your leg onto the plating and face plant into the dirt. Groaning against the soil, you push yourself up and make towards the crow, relocating your lower jaw also.

You find Dwight just as he finishes the Generator, the alarm of the exit gates blaring as sign of your failure. It angers you, Furious Wrath kicks in. You close the distance and hack his shoulder. 

He runs off out of sight but you quickly find him again, only to lunge straight into a pallet you break without hesitation. 

He’s gone now, out of your sight but still some scratch marks remain. You quickly look around yourself, the Exit Gates are not too far away and on the same wall. He can’t have gone far off, but there is still the hatch. If he finds it you will be cheated of your only chance to kill, you refuse to let it happen.

The scratch marks predictably lead you in the general direction of a gate before they fade away. You set your eyes towards the trail of blood splatter below. He’s close, very close.

Just as you thought, you find Dwight about to open it, narrowly ducking under a ball of fire as he flees. You cut off his exits before finally hacking into his shoulder, knocking him down for the last time. 

Then comes the unmistakable groan of the Entity as Claudette is harvested.

You grin— At last, slaughter.

But just as you ready the killing blow, a particularly cruel idea comes to you, and your grin grows wider.

Hoisting Dwight over your shoulder, you drop him at the gate then pull the lever. Machinery thunks and slides, an alarm buzzes, then the exit screeches open. A bell resonates within the trial as orange, pulsating veins manifests - the Endgame Collapse has begun.

You look down to Dwight who stares back at you with abject confusion.

**“You fought well,”** you lie, and point to the exit. **“You have four minutes to crawl out to freedom, unless you wish to be sacrificed.”**

Fear lights up across his face like a bonfire and he drag himself towards freedom rather enthusiastically.

The Entity’s voice echoes in your mind.

_The last one is yours._

**“Yes, go on, you’ve earned it.”** You say in an encouraging manner. You are thankful for your mask; it helps hide your grin.

_“Yes, take the bait. Just a little further.”_

Season the meat with hope, savor its fragrance, then tear it away and dig in.

He’s crossing the divide towards freedom, but not for long. You grab his leg just as he’s about to escape.

**“On second thought, no.”**

You laugh as you forcibly drag him back. Hope turns to despair - you can practically _taste_ his fear, so intoxicating. A kick to the gut sprawls him onto his back with a croak.

  
**“Fool, no one escapes from me, NO ONE!”** You roar out as you raise your arms high above your head. He raises a hand in a desperate plea for mercy, you have none to give.

With a mighty swing you unleash your wrath down upon the hapless prey’s face. His scream cut short by a loud, satisfying crack as sharpened metal pierces through flesh and bone; the axe is lodged halfway in. An overwhelming rush of exhilaration fills your bones, nothing else can compare to it, not even a perfect trial.

To your surprise the body still kicks and convulses, he is still alive - albeit if in his death throes. Your duty is not yet complete.

Kneeling down to cradle him in your arm, you settle a hand on the back of the axe’s head, a firm shove, one last kick, then the body goes limp.

It is done.

Stepping over the corpse and dislodging your axe, you burn off the gore marring it, removing all traces that it hacked through flesh and bone.

The trial is finished, it would be but a few moments before the mist closes in and deconstruct it all. As you stand in silence, an idea worms it way into your head; many times have you seen the other killers - most often being that monstrous clown - return from a trial with a new trophy in tow, perhaps you could do the same? There is still time before the corpse - and trial - vanishes, but you still need to be quick.

You kneel down to crane the neck upwards, a few swings should do the trick. Hacking away at the throat, it takes a few more swing to break bones and dislodge the head, which rolls to your boot.

Sheathing your axe, you take ahold of the head. An indiscernible expression is frozen across its features, perhaps it is fear or anger. You cannot tell - there is a gash where you buried your axe in the center of it.

You channel your flames and focus, embers dance from your fingertips onto the severed head and set it ablaze, flesh burns away as jelly runs from the eyes like tears. Time is running short, you stoke the fire slightly... there, that should be enough.

You dispel the fire with but a thought. only a charred, damaged skull remains. You grin underneath your mask at your work.

As expected, You finally feel the fog close in around you, visibility turning into naught but a thing of the past. Countless times has it happened before, yet a shiver runs down your spine nonetheless. When it parts the corn fields have vanished, replaced by the grassy forests of intermission, the faint light of a campfire shining in the distance. 

Your gaze drifts to your hands, you still have the skull. Excellent. Now, only one thing remains.

You heard towards the campfire, its warmth always present through the thickness of the fog no matter the distance. As it comes into sight, you take notice of the tall and sickly figure kneeling by it. You slow down as not to rouse her from prayers.

The Plague, Adiris. She is perhaps the closest person you could call a friend in the Entity’s Realm, you both worship the entity in its full glory - as all should. That is good enough to form a bond. She speaks an ancient tongue, one completely unknown to you - or the others, for that matter. You make do with sign and body language, the process is slow - your skull face is not the most expressive thing there is -but you make progress. you can link some words together depending on context but not much. For her, it is the same with english.

By chance, it seems that she hasn’t yet begun her prayers, she stirs her head in your direction, “Ah, _Zahn_.” She says and nods in acknowledgment. You return the motion, **“Adiris.”** You answer.

Zahn, the other killers often refer to you as such. The nickname neither bothers nor flatters you, it is simply what they remember the most. For a while you did not know why, much later you came to learn that you earned such title during a particularly unfortunate trial. The survivors had juked you numerous times in the Doctor’s theaters, one dance of the savage too many and you lost it. Maddened with rage, you swung your axe only to miss your prey by a hair’s length and buried it inside a complex set of wires, you convulsed from the resulting shock and apparently made a sound similar to ‘Zahn’, hence your nickname.

_’Continue’_ , you sign. She nods in understanding and motions for you to take position.

You approach the fire at a different angle, set the skull aside and kneel in worship, your head bowed in reverence. Adiris begins chanting her prayers, you do not know the words, but they are those of worship and faith. You do your best to repeat her verses, knowing that they sing praises and not damnation.

The prayers last quite some time, but you are a devout worshipper, continuing even when the Entity calls Adiris to a trial. Once they end and silence falls, you decide to speak up.

**“My lord,”** you whisper, **“I have done as you demanded of me.”** You reach out and place the skull into the flames as an offering. **“A gift, in your honor.”**

**  
**The wind whistles, the skull glows faintly as the flames dance just a tad faster. Holy whispers surround you as spindly limbs arise from the flames.

_”You have done well.”_

The Entity is pleased by your worship. A feeling of completion overwhelms you: your god has approved of your offering. You did not burn it in exchange for power as the others would, no, this was done in simple faith. 

More trials come to pass, and with them, so do more opportunities for gifts. The Bloodweb at last sees to granting you moris and even Rancor. You rack up a large bounty of skulls and other bones, yet you keep them not, for they are all fed to the flames of worship.

The Entity is pleased by your devotion. That is all that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you’re wondering why Zahn doesn’t like survivor pudding even if he lacks a tongue, its so salty it transcends physics.
> 
> As always, please tell me what you think of it in the comments below and leave kudos if you enjoyed!


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